


Prayers

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Forgiveness, Guilt, M/M, Prayer, Religious Tones, Season 9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's life feels unsteady, unpredictable, and uncontrollable but yet still feels like everything that has gone wrong has been utterly his fault. Castiel doesn't see it that way. [written for a prompt from Rosworms]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/gifts).



When Sam was a kid, he learned about faith from his classmates. At Jefferson Elementary, he always sat with a boy who folded his hands together and bowed his head, whispering to himself softly before eating his lunch. At Lambert Junior High, his best friend of four and a half weeks brought him to church with his family twice. 

However, it was only when he reached high school that he decided to pursue it on his own. On his own time, away from Dean and his father, he cruised the internet in search of different kinds of faith and religions. He couldn't find just one that suited what he believed--he enjoyed the morals and ethics of Buddhism, the stories of Christianity, the Five Pillars of Islam but not enough to pick one--but there was always one aspect of all these religions that he was interested in.

Prayer.

It was so private, intimate really--something he could do by himself that didn't require a church or anything extra. It was a concept that spanned most religions, retaining the same message and usage. If Sam was going to tell his woes and sins to someone, it was gonna be like this, not in front of some stranger who could 'absolve' it.

Ever since they met Cas and learned that angels and Heaven and the whole shebang exists, Sam hasn't felt the need to pray whatsoever. Except for the trials--once again, another failed mission to fix the world to add to his list--which didn't feel like prayer, it felt like a mission.

But its right after Dean goes off on a monster, terrifyingly aggressive and undoubtedly affected by the god damn symbol burned upon the flesh of his arm, that Sam feels the need to pray again.

The whole situation has been beginning to scare him, more than the stuff they usually deal with does. Dean's so far off the deep end that, despite knowing that God has left the building, Sam still feels overwhelmed with the feeling--no, the need to pray.

Even if it doesn't go anywhere or to anyone in particular, he needs it.

Dean's out for a beer, or six with that strange metabolism he's recently gained, leaving Sam to himself in the motel room.

The moment the door is shut behind him and his bag of ammo is slung to the side, Sam strides over to the bed and falls to his knees, thudding against the thin carpet but it doesn't bother him. In a practiced motion, Sam's hands come up and fold together before him, head bowing and eyes fall closed.

" _Please,_ " he begs, voice cracking before he steadies himself. "Please, someone, anyone, help Dean."

"I don't know where I went wrong, why he felt he had to do this. It's all my fault," his voice quivers and his eyes feel wet. "If it weren't for me failing the trials, we wouldn't be in this mess. I don't--"

"Sam," a familiar voice sounds from behind him just after the sound of of the door clicking open and closed. Sam's head whips up and his eyes snap open. He twists where he kneels to see Castiel standing near the door, hair mussed and dressed in a tan trenchcoat that is wrong wrong wrong, another indication of Sam's failure during the last trial. His brows are furrowed in concern, looking at Sam like he was some pitiful thing.

"Please," Castiel says, taking a few steps forwards and tilting his head that way he does that frustrates Sam sometimes. "Don't say those things."

"Go away," Sam mumbles, and he's not quite sure he means it. The last thing he wants is an angel of the lord encroaching on his pathetic and desperate prayer session, but at the same time, he has a good feeling that Cas is what he needs at this very moment.

Quiet footsteps behind him tell Sam that the angel hasn't left just yet, but instead Castiel has come a few steps closer. The familiar imposing presence is a phantom weight against his back.

"Sam," Castiel starts again, coming to sit on the bed beside where Sam kneels. Hazel eyes watch the man sit, but Sam doesn't move an inch. Castiel matches his gaze with one that is a rare sight on an angel--full of compassion and genuine concern, even a few notes of distress--and it unnerves Sam a little.

"Cas…"

"Why, after all these years, do you pray?" he asks.

Sam sighs, sitting back on his heels for the moment. "You heard me, you know why."

"You're right," Castiel concedes with a small nod. "But I'd like to hear it from you."

Sam stares down at the ugly paisley pattern of the motel comforter, weighing his choices. Shoulders slumping, he clears his throat.

"I'm afraid." And _God,_ does that sound like the confession of the century. "Of everything, of failure, of-- _for_ Dean."

Castiel lets out a soft exhale and leans forward towards Sam, if only slightly to encourage him to continue. It's a great show of patience; if Sam were in Cas' place, he would have left his sorry ass within a minute.

"It's all my fault," Sam falters, sniffling and he feels infinitely more pathetic. "If I didn't start the god damn apocalypse, if I didn't drink demon blood, if I didn't leave for Stanford-- _Jesus fucking Christ,_ if I wasn't even _born_ \--"

"Stop it," Castiel chides, sounding increasingly more frustrated as the minutes pass. "Just stop--"

"Everything feels so out of my control," Sam murmurs, head dipping in some sort of internalized shame and lets the tears fall. "I've done so much wrong--"

Sam is interrupted by soft fingertips brushing along his cheekbone. When Castiel's hand cradles the side of his face, Sam's eyes flutter closed involuntarily and he leans into it.

"Don't blame yourself," Cas says just over a whisper, like he's speaking to a spooked wild animal. Hell, maybe that's all Sam is at this point.

"Nothing," Cas pauses, rubbing a thumb over over Sam's cheek, absently wiping away the wetness there. "Nothing in your life has been your fault, not like you think it is. Your life has been controlled by others for longer than you have been alive and it's unfair to let you believe that all of these things are your sins."

"Please," Sam pleads once more, and the tone makes Castiel's heart sink like a stone. "I just want forgiveness."

"And I want you to know," Castiel says, bringing Sam's head close enough to place a gentle kiss to his forehead, "that you don't need it."


End file.
